She blinked back tears. At least she wouldn’t be here to see that.
Chapter Nineteen
EIRE
It took a day of land travel to reach the port of Dumbarton. Deidre was amazed at the amount of activity on the docks. She watched as the crew on an unwieldy merchant vessel threw lines to dock hands and maneuvered the broad beam of the ship alongside the pier. The gangplank lowered and, to her surprise, some twenty bawling calves were herded out, contained only by shouting men yielding long whips. The calves balked and bellowed as they stumbled through the narrow alleys away from the water.
“Where are they taking them?” Deidre asked.
“North, probably,” Gilead answered. “Gabran told my father he wanted to try raising cattle, but I never thought he’d do it. Sheep are so much easier.”
Farther along the dock, longshoremen hauled bales of wool aboard the bulky cargo vessels for shipments south. Beyond them lay the sleek, narrow galley that would take them to Eire. Deidre looked up at it in awe as they approached.
She had crossed the Narrow Channel on a small fishing craft barely capable of holding her and her escorts. Thankfully, the wind had been light and the water calm, because the little boat had pitched and bobbed even in gentle swells. They had all been slightly green around the gills by the time they touched land.
But this was a galley. Over a hundred feet long, it had a narrow hull and the bow extended gracefully into a prow ram shod in bronze. The freeboard’s wood was oiled until it glistened in the morning sun. Once on board, Deidre also noticed a difference from her cousin’s warships. Instead of having two or three banks of oars for the rowers below deck, this ship had two dozen benches on deck, each of which could hold three men, and their oars passed over the gunwales instead of through holes at different levels.
“Does this arrangement make the boat more maneuverable?” Deidre asked.
Gilead nodded. “Faster, too. If the winds are fresh, it should take us a little more than a day to reach Eire.” He held out his hand to help her down the ladder. “I’ll show ye where ye and my mother will quarter.”
The stern of the boat held four staterooms, two to port and two to starboard. The captain and first mate used two of them, and the boatswain had a small cabin in the forecastle, near where the food stores were kept.
“Where do the archers and soldiers sleep?” Deidre asked.
“On deck, so they’ll be ready for battle,” Gilead answered. “And they shift out as rowers. It keeps them conditioned and we’re never short of crew or soldiers if many are battle-wounded.”
“Do you expect trouble on the crossing?” For the first time, she realized that there were nearly a half century of men on board, all of them carrying weapons.
“Nae. The pirates stay busy south of us most times.”
“What about Saxons?”
Gilead shrugged. “They’ve been known to sail through the Hebrides from time to time. The one thing that we should thank Fergus for is that his ships usually intercept them before they can get far.” He opened a door to the nearest stateroom. “Ye’ll be sharing this with my mother. We’ll set sail immediately, while the ebb is still with us.”
After he’d gone, Deidre looked around. The cabin was rectangular and paneled in pine that left a slight cedar scent. Two bunks were securely plated to opposite walls and had high fiddles along their outer ridges. To keep occupants from falling out in rough seas, she guessed. Between the beds, a table with the same type of fiddles was also fastened to the wall. The chamber pot in the corner hung from a hook and chain, allowing it to gimbal with the movement of the ship. The water pitcher and basin were of tin and fit neatly into holes that had been drilled in a shelf. A small porthole opened above the table, allowing some light. All in all, a practical arrangement.
Elen’s trunks and hers were brought down, but Deidre didn’t bother to change from the trews she’d been traveling in. Wind and waves made a gown impractical and she wondered why Elen insisted on staying on deck wearing one.
Deidre joined her a few minutes later as she heard the thud of lines landing on the deck. Toward the stern, and slightly off-center from the huge tiller that a beefy sailor manned, was a bolted-down bench with a backrest. Unfortunately, there was no canopy for shade, and Elen’s pale face was already looking flushed.
Deidre was too excited to sit down. This was her chance to be free from Niall. She joined Gilead midship and craned her neck to look up the tall mast where a sailor was cursing roundly, one leg wrapped around the mast while he dangled from the yardarm, apparently trying to loosen a caught line.
“Get her loose, ye blithering fool!” one of the other sailors shouted. “We be heading into the current and the tide’s turning.”
Even as he spoke, Deidre could feel the pull of the boat as it yawed to starboard, almost brushing the rocks of the natural jetty. More curses rang out from the straining rowers as they pulled together on the port side to bring the boat back on course.
“I thought you said we were on an ebb tide?” Deidre asked.
Gilead glanced down at her before returning his attention to the man at the spar. “Ye need to get back,” he said. “The deck’s no place for ye while they’re hoisting sail.”
“But answer me, first.” Her cousin had been meticulous in planning attacks by sea. She was sure she wasn’t wrong.
He sighed in frustration. “Ye are too stubborn, lass. We are late and the tide is backing, but the next ebb won’t happen until dawn. I’ll not have ye and my mother spending the night on the docks. ’Tis too rough. Now go.”
Suddenly, the rope came undone and the huge square canvas came crashing downward. Gilead grabbed Deidre and rolled with her on the deck, just as one of the sheets attached to the sail whipped in a lethal backlash to where she had been standing.
She felt Gilead trembling as he lay on top of her, protecting her head with his arms. She sensed he was angry again, since she been foolish enough to get in the way, but his body felt so good against the length of hers that for a moment she didn’t care.
“Ye could have been killed,” he said harshly as he propped himself on his elbows.
“Then I thank you for saving me,” Deidre said as she looked up at him and smiled. Did she dare try a little wiggle? She shifted her weight slightly and was gratified to feel a distinct swelling against her thigh.
He took a sharp breath and then rolled off her, lifting her as he stood up. “Go back to my mother, Dee, and stay there. I have work to do here.”
She decided not to argue, still a little shaky from the close call or maybe from being close to Gilead. Elen patted her hand when she joined her. “Are ye all right? I never have liked sailing.”
Deidre nodded and watched as the sailors caught the sheets and wrapped them around cleats, pulling the line taut on the port side and allowing the square sail to fill with the northeasterly breeze. High up on the spars, sailors unfurled two triangular sails and adjusted them. The ship found herself and rolled smoothly into the outlet that led to the Firth of Clyde.
Deidre waited until all things had been tidied on deck and the galley was gently prying the waters of the Firth before she approached Gilead in the bow of the boat. He was leaning on the rail, watching sea lions playing in the bow’s wake. He glanced at her and then turned back to watching their antics. “Some people say they’re really selkies,” he said, “and that they take human shape and dance on the beach. My old nurse used to tell me the males are very seductive.”
She peered down into the frothing water. One particular creature had lighter fur than the rest and nearly jumped out of the water, her eyes curiously appraising Gilead. Deidre laughed. “I think that one is a girl. Do they lure men, too?”
“The story goes that if a man can capture the fur skin, the selkie female will remain in human form and be his forever.” He smiled as the sea lion cavorted playfully in the waves.
“Whether she wishes it or not?” Deidre asked.
Gilead gave he
r a sharp look. “Ye feel like a captured selkie?”
“In a way,” Deidre answered and then looked directly at him. “I’m not returning with you and your mother.”
He looked troubled. “What do ye plan to do?”
“I want to stay in Eire. I’ll be glad to work for your grandfather if he’ll have me.”
“’Tis doubtful, lass. Niall’s father is a neighbor and his holdings vast. The Mac Erca will not want to risk civil war.”
“War, war, war!” Deidre exclaimed heatedly. “That’s all I ever hear! Your father spreads word that I’m distant kin and binds me to Niall so Niall will be bound to your clan as an ally. Even when Angus knows—and he does—that this union will be disastrous, he will not break the handfast He doesn’t want war. And you have the same problem. I know the herbs I gave you were speaking in the circle when you said that Dallis would not mind, but your father won’t risk war with Comgall, either. You’re as stuck as I am. The only difference is that Dallis won’t be in mortal danger from you.” She clenched her hand into a fist and pressed it against her mouth to keep from crying.
Gilead stared at her. “Ye really think Niall might kill ye?”
“Yes!” She held out her arm and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to show him the fading yellow-green marks Niall had left the last time he had grabbed her. “He wasn’t as careful this time. My wrist was so swollen once, I thought it broken. What do you think he’s going to do once I’m his legal property?”
He placed a hand under her elbow, the fingers of his other hand gently sliding over the bruise. Then he wrapped his arms around her and brought her close to him. “Ah, Dee, I knew he was cruel. But I had no idea this was going on.”
He was so solid and comforting. Deidre buried her head under his chin and against his shoulder, breathing in his scent mixed with salted air. For the moment, she felt safe, as his large, strong hands stroked her back. Finally, he leaned back from her.
“I’ll talk to my grandfather,” he said.
She gave him a grateful, watery smile. “Thank you.”
For a moment, she was sure he was going to kiss her. He started to bend his head to hers when they were interrupted by the first officer.
“Ye’d best be moving to the stern, my lord,” the man said. “We just passed Holy Isle and will be coming off Whiting. ’Twill get a bit rough up here then.”
The man was right. As soon as they rounded off the peninsula and hit open water, the seas started churning, the waves quickly doubling and then tripling in height, foam spewing from the crests. The galley sluiced through the troughs and rose with the swells. The pitching soon had Elen below deck, green as the water and ill.
Deidre spent the rest of the day bathing Elen’s forehead with a damp cloth, wishing that they could have stayed on deck where the air was fresh and she could see the horizon. The rolling motion below made even her stomach queasy. By nightfall she had no appetite either, although when Gilead came to relieve her, she managed to climb the ladder and munch on some dry bread.
The night was black and thick clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the waning moon. Deidre wondered how the captain knew where to steer, with so few stars to guide him, but she supposed he’d made the trip often enough to know what he was about.
She grabbed the rail as the wind picked up in intensity and whipped through the rigging like the sound of a dozen harpies wailing. Big droplets of rain splashed down on the deck around her, and she heard muttered curses as sailors struggled to reef down the big sail while others climbed the mast to bring down the smaller sails.
Deidre scurried down the ladder just as the heavens opened and the rain poured down. She shook her damp hair and shivered as the storm roared its fury and the ship buried her nose in a deep trough, causing green water to wash the deck.
Riding it out wasn’t going to be easy. She just hoped this wasn’t an omen of what was to come.
◊♦◊
The storm passed and by the time they docked the next morning the skies were clear and the water had calmed. The rain, though, had made the emerald-colored hills of Eire even greener and the grass sparkled with diamond dew drops.
Elen, although still pale, managed to walk ashore unassisted. The Mac Erca himself was waiting for her. Although the man must have been past seventy, he stood ramrod straight and had a solid build. His steel grey eyes matched his full head of hair. Deidre was afraid he’d break Elen’s ribs from the force of the hug he gave his daughter.
“Ye’re much too thin, child,” he admonished. “If Angus is not treating ye well, he’ll answer to me.”
Deidre exchanged looks with Gilead. Angus was continually worried about warring factions, yet he was taking the biggest risks with the two most powerful kings since the Romans left. All because of Formorian.
But Elen was already denying that “Nae, Father. He treats me well and with respect. I have naught to complain about.”
Gilead frowned and Deidre tried not to gape. She knew Elen had accepted her plight because of her own treachery, but she was also trying to protect Angus. This business of avoiding war apparently ran deep in Scotti blood. Deidre thought about all the skirmishes that had occurred after Clovis died and his four sons tried to divide Gaul. Luckily, Childebert, the most rational of the group, laid claim to Paris, which was the strongest fort. Lothar ruled Soissons with a lethal hand and Chlodomir enjoyed strong spirits and young women too much to be a good leader in Orleans. Theuderic, at Metz, was generally ineffective. Still, a lot of blood had been uselessly shed before the four of them agreed to an uneasy truce.
“Well, let’s not stand out here,” Mac Erca interrupted her thoughts. “Yer mother will be glad to see ye and Gilead, too.” He thumped Gilead on the back so hard that any other man would have been sent sprawling.
The Eire king took no notice of Deidre as they walked up the hill from the dock and toward the fortress. She squelched a hysterical bubble of laughter. In Gaul she would have been the one escorted. But ladies’ maids were invisible and as far as her search for the Stone had gone, that was a good thing. Even now that she had no idea where to continue looking, she still didn’t want her identity known. She would most certainly be put on the next ship home, which would solve her problem with Niall, but Childebert was an unforgiving man, for all that he expressed to be Christian. She would either be locked away in a convent or the castle dungeon. She didn’t know which would be worse.
Elen spent most of the day resting and by the time the castellan announced dinner, color had come back into her cheeks and she walked with a determined gait. Eire air was good for her, Deidre thought, or maybe she was just relieved to be away from Angus and Formorian. God only knew what they were up to, left alone.
They passed the Great Hall where Deidre could hear the clinking of cups and the loud talk of soldiers, but they were shown into a private dining room. When they entered, she gasped in delight.
Richly embroidered tapestries covered the walls, threads of silver and gold catching the light of dozens of sweet-smelling beeswax candles embedded in niches between the hangings. The table was ash, its light wood polished so that the surface glowed in the candlelight. Twelve tall straight-back chairs were well stuffed and brocaded with fine silk. But it was the table runner that held Deidre’s fascination. Intricately crocheted roses delicately met with entwining vines in the most exquisitely fine piece of lace that she had ever seen.
So this was the lace that Elen had spoken of. Even Clotilde, who prided herself on the fine altar cloths made for the Church, had never had anything so beautiful. No wonder Elen wanted Dallis to have some of it for her wedding to Gilead. Deidre swallowed a lump in her throat at the thought.
Then she looked more closely. Roses and vines. From time beyond Time, the five petals of the rose had symbolized the five stages of womanhood, but the rose was also symbolic of the movement of Venus. The astronomer at Childebert’s court had taught that the goddess star crossed in front of, or behind, the sun five times every e
ight years. The pentacle-shaped path the star took across the heavens traced the five petals of the rose. What Deidre had found fascinating about the lectures was that Venus was either the morning or the evening star, depending on what part of her transit she was in. Deidre missed the kindly old man who had patiently explained so much about the hidden Wisdom masked in the night sky. Clotilde had him exiled from court because she thought his teachings were too pagan, but not before he confirmed to Deidre what her mother had taught her about looking for the rose in carvings and paintings as a concealed symbol of feminine power.
And the vines, twisting and winding around the rose stems with the fluidity of snakes. Another symbol of womanhood and wisdom. Deidre grimaced as she traced the graceful line of one vine and thought of how maligned the snake was. But the vines connected the roses in a fascinating pattern. One large rose spread across her end of the runner. Vines branched out from that rose in different directions, always with a rose at the end of the intricate swirls. Nine medium-sized roses bordered the other end. She bent and peered at one of the roses intently. A small initial, almost indiscernible, was crocheted below a petal. She looked at another rose. Another initial, but different. Now she could see that each flower had an initial beneath it. The last rose had an “E.”
Deidre paused in thought. The magician’s Book had said there were nine holy priestesses on mystic Avalon. The ancient crone who had passed the Mysteries to her mother had ingrained in her that descendents of the Magdalen would someday bring about the true awakening of the loving, peaceful Goddess power of Isis. Could the two be connected in this design? Could she possibly be looking at a hidden code of the Bloodline? The familiar light-headedness buffeted her and she grasped the back of a chair until it passed.
“This is a beautiful piece of work,” Deidre said as her vision cleared and the rest had taken their seats. “It almost seems to tell a story.”
Elen gave her a strange look. “My grandfather made it for me when I was but a tiny bairn.”
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